aim & fire
by circleofcrows
Summary: They weren't playing for caps anymore, they were playing to win, and with that familiar prickly heat spreading over him as his knees buckle and his breath draws inwards, he thinks losing doesn't sound half-bad. [m/m] [nsfw]


It had all started as a bet, and MacCready _loved_ bets.  
Being a hired gun wasn't all bad - it sure had it's advantages. Those advantages were usually an eminently dangerous reputation and a _don't fuck with me_ kind of calibre, but where two hired guns were concerned, especially when those two hired guns happened to have something more than a _business partnership_ , it most _definitely_ had it's advantages.

Twilight had deepened to an amorous darkness and stars had began peeking through the violet sky. It was quiet, mostly, save for the crackle of fire and occasional _clink_ of bottles. The two had hunkered down on the roof of one of the tallest buildings in the ruins of a decrepit old city; found themselves a nice little spot to take out the unsuspecting, incurious Gunners (that had also seemed taken to the same idea of camping out atop shadowed husks of city buildings) and, in their own carelessness, had decided to share a few drinks while they got their hands dirty.

''Alright, alright. Hundred caps on the table. If I can get you off by the time you clear 'em all out, money's mine for the taking. If I don't, it's yours. We gotta deal?''

The mercenary laughed, as he always did when Joel would pull some risky too-good-to-be-true dare out of thin air, and shook his head. He had set his rifle over his knees, lighting up a cigarette. Joel had noticed this was something of a ritual to MacCready, and he had even caught himself doing the same from time to time. MacCready's lips drew back into a smile. ''That's cheap, Joey. You don't sound all that confident. A hundred caps? Really?''

Joel shrugged, grinning. This was how it always was between them. _Give, take, give, give give, keep on giving._  
''One-fifty.''

''Two.''

''One-seventy-five.''

MacCready blew out an impatient puff of smoke, a stolidate expression stamped over his sharp features. ''Two-hundred,'' he repeated, firmly, ensuring the rifle was fully loaded before positioning over the wall. Joel scoffed.  
''Fine. Two-hundred caps - and -'' He had shifted from where he was crouched, and plucked the cigarette from the other's lips to take a drag himself- ''An extra fifty if I can make you come before you've killed three.''

MacCready might have laughed at that - the beginnings of a smile had already tugged his lips - but Joel had come to crouch in the small space between the wall and the mercenary, hands moving to unbuckle his belt, and all MacCready had managed instead was a wincing sound caught in his throat. Joel smiled.

''Yeah, yeah. It's a... it's a fuckin' deal, okay? Just, _God_ , show some mercy this time round, will ya?'' Joel glanced upwards to see the constrained expression on the mercenary's face, mouth forming a static-line. _Nervous_ , and the thought stretched his mouth into a grin.

''Just relax, alright? No need to get yourself all worked up, Mac. This ain't the most you've lost before, is it?''  
Before he could respond, Joel squeezed MacCready's hardness through his boxer briefs. He swallowed, hard.

''Damn you, Joey,'' he muttered, and he realised that if he wanted to keep his caps, he'd need to quit fuckin' around and _shoot someone_.  
But the alcohol ruined his precision and everything felt _off_ , but nevertheless he squinted, aimed, and fired.  
And missed.

Through the scope he saw the Gunner start, assuming they muttered something along the lines of _what the fuck was that_ , and before they could mutter anything _else_ he fired again, and they were silenced.  
He grinned. ''Might be the most _you've_ lost- _ah, God-_ ''

His victory was short lived as Joel pressed a hungry open-mouthed kiss to the cotton-covered bulge, laying his tongue flat against it, letting the wet warmth soak through. MacCready twitched impatiently, silently cursing the heat that had _already_ began pooling in his stomach, and sighed.  
 _Concentrate._

He shuddered as Joel slipped his fingers beneath the waistband of his briefs and lowered them, breathing his warm breath over his erection as it was exposed inch by inch.  
Fighting the sudden urge to drop his hands to the man's ashen-hair, MacCready steadied his aim once more and targeted another gunner that, alarmed by the previous gunshot, had ducked behind a rusted old Chevy. _Tough luck, pal_ , he thought, smirking.

As if he was reading the mercenary's thoughts, Joel played his card by taking MacCready into his mouth without warning, cock slipping over his tongue and hitting the back of his throat, meeting no resistance.  
The thick swallowing sounds made MacCready shudder and moan and buck his hips, and he pulled the trigger prematurely. _Fuck_.  
The shot missed by a mile with his thoughts already distracted and his aim unsteady, and he cursed Joel frustratedly. They weren't playing for _caps_ anymore, they were playing to _win_ , and with that familiar prickly heat spreading over him as his knees buckle and his breath draws inwards, he thinks losing doesn't sound half-bad.

He'll never admit it, but it's that one quiet gagging sound that Joel makes as MacCready's hands drop, grabbing a fistful of the man's hair, that pushes him over the edge.  
MacCready hisses a long, agonised, '' _Sssssshit-!''_ as he holds Joel's head still and his hips jolt forward. once, twice more, and Joel almost chokes on the sudden mouthful of warm, thick liquid, swallowing roughly to get it all down.

''Two hundred and fifty,'' Joel croaks, wide-grinning, as he wipes his mouth with his sleeve, standing. ''Easy caps. How many'd you get? One?'' He laughs. ''Fuckin' hell.''

MacCready, still breathless, and coming down from his high, rolled his eyes. ''Yeah, yeah. Don't get ahead of yourself. You got some pocket change, nothin' more.''

''Last I checked, it's a decent payment for gettin' a guy off in a few minutes, easy.'' MacCready scoffed, and Joel laughed.


End file.
